Saturday, August 17, 2013

Being a gay poet in Iran: ‘Writing on the edge of crisis (

Iran’s government has been increasing pressure on writers and artists over the past few years, but its heavy hand does not strike evenly...

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Being a Gay Writer in Iran: Lying to Liars

... Payam is openly gay in a totally closed society, where despite loosening social mores in other areas, being homosexual remains one of the greatest taboos. Like many gay men and women in Iran, his story is one of existing at the margins, in retreat from a society that is hostile to homosexuality and under a government that denies its very existence. Such a climate encourages thousands of gay Iranians to seek asylum in the West, and that is precisely the future that Payam's parents would like for him. But he feels his identity lies in his homeland, and that moving away would crush him. “Why should I leave?” he says. “Homophobes should leave the country; those who cannot tolerate others with contrasting viewpoints or lifestyles"...

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Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Being a gay poet in Iran: ‘Writing on the edge of crisis’

Being a gay poet in Iran: ‘Writing on the edge of crisis’

An interview with "Index on Censorship" (an international organisation that promotes and defends the right to freedom of expression). Read the interview at the link below...

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

I will grow, bear fruits ... figs in Hebrew

כל כך פיוטי כותב הבחור הזה, פיאם פילי, סופר איראני צעיר שאני מקווה לתרגם אותו לעברית. מתוך ספרו האחרון:

"אומרים שלעולם לא תחזור יותר לקרקס. אומרים שעייפת מלצוות על פילים, ליצנים ואלוהים. אומרים שאינך רוצה עוד לרקוד בין טבעות של אש ולנשוף באוויר על להבות כתומות. אומרים שאינך רוצה עוד שההמונים יסירו את כובעיהם לכבודך כשאתה זורח שם למעלה כמו ענף של עופרת מותכת, ויטביעו אותך בין גבעולי פרחים..."

So poetic writing the Payam, feili, Iranian young writer I hope to translate it to Hebrew. In his latest book: "say never coming back to the circus. Tired of a team of elephants, clowns and God. Say you don't want to dance between the rings of fire and blow air on orange flames. Say that you want to remove more masses hats for you when you're up there shining like a twig of molten lead, and you sink between stalks of flowers. " 

I Will Grow, I Will Bear Fruit . . . Figs (Chapter 2)


... I know I will be killed in the deserts of Africa. In the deserts, away from everyone’s eyes. Poker told me this. He knows things about my death. Even about my birth …
Poker has a flute, and every time he comes to see me he is high. He knows a lot about plants. I think he owes this to the Afghan Groundskeeper. That’s the name Poker has given him.
The Afghan Groundskeeper lives on this floor. Just across from my apartment. A thirty-something-year-old with black hair and black eyes and thick, luscious lips. Sun-burnt skin covers his entire strong, agile body.
I have no interest in intimate relations with him. I consider him an insider and this kills my desire for intimacy with him. It is always like this. It has always been like this. Insiders are undesirable.
He is alone almost all day. But we usually spend a few hours together in the middle of the night. It is the only time when you don’t hear the sound of something being chiseled and carved come from his apartment. At that hour of the night, the only sound floating around is the sound of our whispers. Slow, uneven whispers with a despairing yet eager rhythm. His apartment looks like the realm of an empire. There, everything is under the rule of the Afghan Groundskeeper; the windows … the small fractions of light … the wood shavings … and even the Queen. The Afghan Groundskeeper is leading her from the forests. With carving knives and steel chisels.
The Queen is still a bust. A bust made of wood from Mediterranean trees. The Afghan Groundskeeper is carving her from the changing seasons. With an innocent, naked body. All day … in the dark. He carves … carves … carves...

Payam Feili

Translated from the Persian by Sara Khalili

Monday, August 5, 2013

I Will Grow, I Will Bear Fruit . . . Figs (Chapter 25)

Twenty Five

Poker—like a god emerging from the fog, fragment by fragment—appears in the doorway. There is a glint in his eyes, mischievous and small. A glint produced by optic nerves, innocent and pure like a newborn rain...

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Help us to get Payam's voice to the world!

Payam Feili was born in 1985 in Kermanshah, a city in western Iran. He is a homosexual writer and poet whose works are condemned in Iran due to his sexual orientation. His first book, The Sun’s Platform, was published in Iran when he was nineteen. The book was  heavily censored by the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance. Since his subsequent works could not get through the ministry, he started to publish his books outside Iran knowing that it may cause him problems and put him in danger. In 2006 Payam’s first novel, Tower and Pond, and a short-story collection titled Crimson Emptiness and Talking Waters were published in Persian by e-publisher Lulu in the United States. I Will Grow, I Will Bear Fruit... Figs was published by Gardoon Publishers in Germany. His recent works include the novel Son of the Cloudy Years and a collection of poems titled Hasanak, both published outside Iran. He has a dozen other collections of poetry that haven't been able to be published yet. One of his recent poetry books "White Field" has been published in Persian by Nogaam publishing in London in July 2013.
Help us to get Payam's voice to the world. Your donation will help Nogaam translate his book "White Field" into English so Payam's voice can be freed from censorship and discrimination.